


Day 8(Prompt 6)- Cinnamon and Sugary Like Softly Spoken Lies

by StarCrysis



Series: 365 Day Writing Challenge [5]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Sexual Experimentation, Theon-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarCrysis/pseuds/StarCrysis
Summary: Set after Robb's argument with Catelyn about the trustworthiness of a Greyjoy- Theon convinces Robb that his intentions on the Iron Islands are honorable, but soon finds out the animosity is less from distrust and more from a worried standpoint; meaning, Robb doesn't want Theon out of his sight.Original Tumblr post: http://starcrysis.tumblr.com/post/168290285938/6-eye-contact-write-about-two-people-seeing-eachPrompt: http://thinkwritten.com/365-creative-writing-prompts/ (A rewrite on the "Eye Contact" prompt because I've already written a dreamscape this week)





	Day 8(Prompt 6)- Cinnamon and Sugary Like Softly Spoken Lies

His lover’s hair spilled onto the white bundle of feathers like blood splattered into snow as they struggled to catch their breath. Blue eyes met green, and a smile snuck onto the younger’s face.

  


“When I said ‘fuck me like it’s your last day on earth’,” came Robb’s breathy voice. “You didn’t have to convince me it was.” Robb’s blue eyes hung on Theon’s, a smile still dangling at his lips. The elder was more winded, and let out a breathy chuckle.

  


I-” he considered his words thoughtfully. “I feel like it is,” came the solemn reply. He remembered the promise he made to his King earlier that night; a promise that hung in the air as flesh met flesh.

  


* * *

  


  


Theon hadn’t remembered ever being attracted to Robb, but when the huffy King fled from the Stark matriarch that night, and into his tent, something switched in him. He felt the heated words coming off of his friend, seeing as Robb was distrusting and dissatisfied as a result of an argument with his mother.

  


Aghast at the Stark matriarch’s accusation, Theon had begun to contrive lengthy vindications of his devotion to the Northern monarch’s cause. He found himself trustworthy, so why couldn’t Robb? He wanted to spit on Catelyn’s counsel, but decided to hold it in the same regard as his closest friend. He tackled each of her issues with quickwitted manipulation, and his King was entangled in emotion by the time he had finished.

  


“I… don’t know what to think of this,” Robb shakily sat down beside Theon on the Greyjoy’s bed, his anger quelling. A perplexed look hung on Theon’s face, his mind running wild with promises he was sure he could keep.

  


“Pray tell me why,” came his plea, more insistent than intended. He attempted eye contact with the young accuser, but the vivid blue only averted, hurrying to various spots before them. “Have I not pled my sword to you, brother?” The conversation felt grave, and Robb’s front teeth skated against his lower lip in absorption.

  


“I know,” conceded Robb thoughtfully. “It’s not that I necessarily believe my mother in distrust.” No eye contact came as his words spilled into his lap.

  


“Then why interrogate me?” Theon Greyjoy watched as the Young Wolf disrobed from his cloak, remarking the heat emitting from the fire.

  


“Who will I trust when you’re away?” Robb finally blurted, turning his head and facing Theon. “Who can I trust with you while I’m away? There are a thousand of my enemies lurking about, and they aren’t always Lannister soldiers.” Robb’s voice began to crack very slightly; almost unnoticeable. “You say you know your father will yield his ships to the Northern cause, but when was the last time you actually saw your ‘Salt King’ father?”

  


Theon could almost feel the heat coming off of Robb now, his King’s blood pumping wildly. He knew he should think of something comforting to say, but was distracted by Robb’s pouting lips. The deep orange light danced against the sharp bones of his face until it seemed as though, besides blue eyes, his face was a fire dancing before him. It felt as though he had held his gaze for an eternity, rather than a white-hot moment. Theon felt a hum against his voice-box, and his face slowly twisted into a friendly smirk and he began to chuckle.

  


“You don’t have a word for that, ‘Your grace’?” Theon mused at the other’s expense. The words “your grace” came almost mockingly, and he meant a jab at Robb’s vocabulary. Robb looked confused now, unsure of what Theon was playing at. “Just say it; you’re going to miss me.”

  


Robb was taken aback, but he then smiled, relaxing. “Aye, I might,” he joked back. He looked down to his hands, seemingly unsure of what to say next. He was trying to hide it, but Robb was slightly chewing the inside of his lip, as he’d done as a child. Theon could sense there was something else, and he pushed his elbows into the ribs of his friend.

  


“There’s no use sitting there if you won’t say what is on your mind,” he griped. “You think me simple, but I’m not stupid.”

  


“I think nothing, Theon Greyjoy.” Robb’s eyes held a hint of threat as they settled on the green beside him again.

  


“You think nothing, you say nothing,” Theon’s face dramatically poised toward the roof of the tent, his body leaning against his hands behind him, pressed into hard bedding. “Will you tell me you know nothing next?” A swift, light punch landed his ribs, and he pretended to double over in pain, giggling.

  


“I’m no Jon Snow,” said Robb, failing at trying to sound serious. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, but firmness held.

  


“Aye, you’re no Jon Snow,” Theon began to jest as he pushed his body back up to face Robb. His breath hitched in his throat when he noticed the Stark monarch had grown near, his entire body now facing the grinning consort. Theon pressed a fake giggle to his throat, barely audible. “What are you playing at, Stark?” Robb seemed unsure himself as well, looking away and pressing his body off of the bed once again.

  


“I’d like it if you-” Robb began. One fist was held in his lap, squeezing furiously. “Just, return safely.” He looked again to his friend. “Please.”

  


Something in Theon Greyjoy snapped in that moment. Theon Greyjoy; the same who enjoyed the company of women, flaunting it as often as permitted, was looking at Robb the same as he looked at the whores and Ladies. There was something about the simple pout of his lips, the pleading tone in his eyes, and the hopeful tone of his voice. There was a feminine air surrounding Robb; the same that held in a Lady’s perfume. The same perfume Theon had usually cursed, as, it held his attention for far too long, his interest too high, and weakened his macho resolve.

  


“Aye, now and always,” he recited respectfully, finding his own attraction to Robb discomforting. He prayed this be a folly, and he dared think he’d find a swift exit by his king most effective at putting this matter to rest. This, however, was not what transpired. He wasn’t sure how, but he was sure Robb’s face had moved even closer to his own within minutes passing. He noticed the other’s blue eyes move dart slightly below his own, but not enough that he could tell what they were searching for.

  


“Now, and always.” Robb’s voice came as almost a whisper, and his breath caught in Theon’s throat as he inhaled. Theon could then see what he was searching for, and his heart began to pound against his chest. Robb’s breath held in his lungs, but he dared not move.

  


It seemed an eternity of stillness, and Theon’s muscles were rigid. His mouth was dry, and sweat clammed his weakly held fist against bed sheets. He thought back to quips spoken; they had seemed so normal. When did these moments derail? Theon sang the concept in his mind that maybe, they were never railed to begin with. Frustration set in as he noticed; Robb had no plans in moving either.

  


These slow seconds came to a crashing halt when Theon’s body began to jerk on its own. He wasn’t sure how, but suddenly he could only taste the salt of the sweat cradled in the hair above Robb’s mouth. They both held a minuscule gaze, surprised, then let eyelids droop in comfort. Neither questioned the other’s movement but instead grasped at one another’s form. Theon’s lips parted, and they soon scrambled awkwardly to meet each other’s pace. Minutes went by before they matched, and soon came strands of hair entangled between damp fingers.

  


Theon didn’t know how he found himself, laying on his back, under Robb, his hands grasping at the other’s leather chest. A sweet surge of pleasure pushed up between his thighs, and he forgot himself. Under the weight of Robb’s lips, he couldn’t feel his garments being unfastened. They were flung aside unnoticed, and he grasped upward to feel that Robb’s chest lay bare under his fingers.

  


Theon began to panic, as, the severity and quickness of the situation was previously unfounded. He felt slightly ill at the small incestuous thought the branded his mind; he thought as Robb as a brother, had he not? But reservations started to pass, and his other head began to think for him. He awkwardly felt down Robb’s chest; eventually, his fingertips lightly brushed his manhood held in textile confinement. He tugged hungrily at Robb’s waistband, and his King fell to his side, not breaking the kiss.

  


“Robb,” Theon moaned into the now strained kiss. “What do you want me to do?” He felt silly asking, but his body implored more than his mind, and he struggled to keep up. To Theon’s surprise, Robb missed not a step in his breathy reply.

  


“I want you to fuck me like it’s your last day on earth.”

  


* * *

  


Now, Theon couldn’t decide on why; he felt at worried about himself as Robb did before their flesh met, but he could see Robb was more relieved. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Robb was no longer next to him, and a morning light crept solemnly into his tent.

  


* * *

  


Robb did well to memorize the scent of his lover as he watched the Theon climb his best horse. He insisted on sending men to accompany Theon, but the proud Greyjoy wouldn’t budge, insisting, “I’ll be back within the next fortnight.” They then struggled to keep their goodbyes professional in the wake of their newfound relationship. It wouldn’t do well for a King to be seen distressing, watching Theon’s horse far more and more distance between them. He watched the figures disappear over the horizon, and he felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him to more important matters in the camp.

  


Robb could still remember the exact taste of Theon’s lips; sugary with wine, and the smell of his clothes; speckled with cinnamon. A woman’s scent, he decided, but that was made Theon so enticing as a lover.

  


The king mulled over softly spoken words in his head, distracted from his meetings, nervous that he had decided wrong.

  


It was not long before it became apparent that he had.


End file.
